


caddyshack sucks

by lovages



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s11e12 Don't You Forget About Me, M/M, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:29:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5947372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovages/pseuds/lovages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath, Dean sews up Claire's wound, takes recipe notes from Jody, and doesn't miss Cas. Definitely doesn't dream about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	caddyshack sucks

The drive to Jody’s house is quiet. The girls ride with them squished together in the back seat. Alex gives them directions but she’s lost in thought, somewhere far away, and Jody is hopefully asleep but not unconscious. Claire looks so small, so young, huddled up against the window, breathing measured and careful. She and Sam get out of the car gingerly when they reach the hospital. Dean breathes; adrenaline’s still buzzing in his blood. He tries to help with Jody, but in the end, it’s easier for Sam to carry her inside. 

“I was right,” Claire says, a hair shy of petulant. 

Dean makes a show of rolling his eyes. Just to get back at her for all the eye-rolling he puts up with. “So you’ve said.” He fishes a clean rag out of his bag and directs her to hold it against her bleeding neck. “Put pressure on that. We’ll stitch it up after this.” 

“We’re at a hospital,” Alex points out. 

“And we can’t explain a vamp bite to a bunch of doctors and nurses.”

Alex doesn’t flinch, but she looks away and sets her jaw. “I’ll stay here with Jody, and we’ll get a ride back with her deputy.” She exchanges a look with Claire. “Take her home.” 

Dean figures it’s alright. There’s no use in making Claire wait. He tries to avoid being alone around Claire, given all the murderous feelings in the water under the bridge. Things are better, but what’s even better is keeping his distance. Sam and Cas are more than enough as collateral damage goes. 

“I liked this jacket,” Claire says idly, sliding into Sam’s usual seat. 

Dean puts the car in drive and looks at it. “I’ll show you how to get the blood out.” 

“You’re full of useful information.” Dean can practically hear her eyes rolling, but when he looks over she’s smiling. He responds seriously anyway. 

“All you gotta do is ask. Or call.” 

“I did call.” 

He can’t argue with that. When they get home, he finds the first-aid box under Jody’s sink. Claire showers and changes into pajamas, and Dean scrounges through the fridge for leftovers while he waits. She rolls her eyes when she catches him stuffing some more mashed potatoes in his face. 

“Sit,” he instructs, drawing a chair out at the table. 

She slouches into it silently, tilts her neck gingerly away to show him the wound. Dean puts the food away, immediately a little queasy. Somehow, he’s used to the sight when it comes to him or Sam, but with Claire– even Jody, it’s hard to look at. It’s a nasty one, wide but thankfully shallow. She hasn’t lost a lot of blood, so that’s good too.

Dean gets to work. Honestly, he thinks Sam is better at playing doctor, but he’ll do in a pinch. Claire doesn’t make a noise or complain. 

“It’s gonna scar,” she sighs when he’s done. 

He washes his hands in the sink for a few moments in silence. “Hey, at least you’ll have a heck of a story. And the boys won’t believe one second of it.”

“Or girls,” she says. When he turned to look at her she raises her eyebrows at him, defiant, daring him to say something.

Dean holds his hands up in surrender, unwittingly dripping water on the rug. “No judgement.” 

Claire’s lips twitch, she bounces a leg, and gives in to half a smile. She seems to be expecting something, but Dean just stares back, nonplussed, and the smile slides off her face. She sighs and looks away. 

“You’re an idiot,” she mutters, and waves her thanks over her shoulder as she walks away. 

Dean pulls a face, mimicking her. It’s not juvenile of him.  _ She _ started it. He tries and fails to be annoyed. 

In the morning, he wakes to the sound of the girls talking quietly in the kitchen. Something clatters to the floor. Alex yelps and Claire hisses loudly. A second later they burst into stifled giggles. Dean catches himself smiling, thinking he could get used to this, and pushes off from the floor. Yeah, no. He's gotta stop that train of thought dead in its tracks. Time to get up. 

The kitchen is a disaster, but it’s not his kitchen, and Dean tells himself that it’s the only reason he can appreciate the girls' gesture. And then, too soon, it’s time to leave. 

Sam walks off, and Claire follows him, and Dean stays where he is and smiles at Jody. 

“You take it easy alright, sheriff? And uh, thanks for the food.” 

He means to say something more, but he hesitates on the words, turning them over, and finding them wrong. It hurts to see Jody beaten and bruised like this, but she’s strong. He knows she’s survived worse. Still hurts. At least he knows she’s got Alex and Claire to help. When they’re not busy being– honestly, give him monsters any day. Dean doesn’t know the first thing about talking to a teenage girl. 

“Aside from breakfast you mean,” Jody mutters fondly, jerking her head in the girls’ direction. “And hey, you know you’re always welcome here. Make the drive up whenever.”

“We might just take you up on that offer some time.” 

Dean ducks his head, shoulders rounded. Something about all this– being here, the girls, Jody, the food. It makes him feel lazy and warm. Vulnerable. He tries not to look around and get used to it because this could be something. Since the retirement home, or maybe before that, he’s been thinking things. Dangerous thoughts. Fleeting hopes. 

He’d given Sam the couch last night. Laying on spare blankets and pillows on the floor, Dean had stared at the ceiling. He’d heard the quiet footsteps over the floorboards, and pretended to be asleep when Claire came down the stairs. He’d scrolled through his recent calls list, and resisted tapping on Cas’ name. What would he say? Not that Cas ever even answers anymore. Dean gave into the temptation, but this time, like the last twenty times, it doesn’t even ring. It goes straight to voicemail. The disappointment is acute, and not wanting to look at or touch that feeling is finally what drives him to sleep. 

Jody clears her throat. 

“With the potatoes, you know the trick is–” 

“Butter?” 

“Lots of butter. Salt and pepper, obviously. More pepper than you think. Pinch of garlic. Fresh chives.” She snaps her fingers. “Stop stirring before it gets gooey. Then add more butter.” 

Dean grins, lopsided. “Noted.”

“You could do this, you know? Much simpler than a burger. With the chicken, and I learned this from a church friend— so , you cure it with lime juice and a little rosemary, some cloves, and after that you stick it in the oven.” Jody narrows her eyes at him. “You’ve already forgotten what I said, haven’t you? I’ll email you, and we’ll talk stuffing.”

Dean gives her a look like,  _ I don’t know what you’re talking about! _ Jody stares through the bullshit and Dean surrenders. 

“I remember, but send me that email anyway.” 

Finally, Jody smiles back, eyes soft, and it– one thing is for sure, it’s not his mother’s smile. And yet, something about it pulls Dean’s heart up into his throat. Jody’s eyes flicker over his shoulder to Sam. She reaches out and squeezes Dean’s shoulder. 

“Take care of yourselves.” 

Dean doesn’t trust himself to speak. It hurts to smile, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to name this feeling so he doesn’t think about it.

When they drive off, he watches them through the rearview mirror. Claire scuffs the ground with her shoe and Alex turns to help Jody back inside. He sees Claire lift a hand up in an aborted wave, and tuck her hair behind her ear instead. She made the kind of promises she might keep, and that’s better than they could’ve hoped for. He suppresses the irrational urge to go back for her, and steps on the gas. She’s not alone, he tells himself. She’s better off here anyway. 

The drive back is quiet. Sam is in pain, and Dean can see the edge of a bruise blooming blue up his neck. There’s a bottle of Advil rattling around somewhere in the car. When they stop for gas, Dean roots it out of the boot and tosses it to Sam. He mutters a thanks and washes it down with his iced tea. When they get back in the car, Sam grabs a beer from the cooler and rests it beneath his neck. 

Out of the blue, Dean thinks of her. 

“How’s that girl doin’– Eileen?” 

Sam starts. “Heard from her last week. She seems okay, between cases.” He hesitates. “I told her she was welcome to the Men of Letters library. For research. Or a place to stay.”

Dean nods. Fair enough. She’s a legacy too, after all. 

“I like her,” Sam continues, sounding cautious. “After, for the rest of us, there’s no getting out. Like with Claire, you know? But I think with Eileen, killing the banshee, it really was closure? Maybe? It’s case closed, for now, at least. She might never completely give it up but hunting just doesn’t have that hold over her.”

Sam falls silent, searching for the words. And Dean watches the lights go by. He thinks he might’ve found them. 

“She’s not running,” he says. “That’s good.” 

“Yeah.” 

It’s hard not to think of Claire. When they get home, it’s evening, and Dean is unnaturally, desperately tired. Maybe he’s getting too old to drive. Sam winces and groans as he unfolds out the car, and Dean goes to unpack. He hangs the suits and coats carefully, drags the duffels with their clothes straight to the washers. Sticking his head in the kitchen, he sees the remnants of Cas’ time here: bottles of some swill called kombucha on the fridge door and an opened bag of Cheetos next to a half-used stick of cream cheese and an assortment of candy. The old pizza, that’s his, and there's a soggy bag of wilted salad greens (Sam’s), and at the very back of the top shelf, a gas-n-sip pie gone furry with mold. Dean cleans it up, makes room for the food Jody gave them, and heats up some of the chicken. The ribs he saves for later.

He eats it with his fingers in the kitchen, hot tender slivers of meat practically falling off the bone. Melting in his mouth. It’s good. 

He feels less tired, so he makes a list. On the top he writes ‘OJ’. A quick scan of the pantry later, he writes ‘chicken’ followed by ‘ground beef’ then ‘cloves’ (which he’s sure he misspelled anyway), so he scratches it out and puts ‘herbs’. Cas would’ve liked the chicken, he thinks. Well, maybe, maybe not. Back when Cas liked burritos. Yeah, he would’ve liked it then. Dean has written ‘milk’, and he’s halfway through writing ‘honey’ when his phone chimes. It’s from Claire. 

_ is cas ok? _

Dean scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. It’s the question of the hour.

**He’s fine.**

_ he won’t answer my calls  _

**Join the club. Dudes busy**

_ it’s not like him to not answer  _

He’s trying to think of a way to answer that without letting on that he’s worried too when he gets another text from her.

_ possible ghoul, how to kill it? _

Exasperated, Dean calls her back. It hasn’t even been a day. 

And that night, sleep doesn’t come easy. He’s still wired from the drive, seven hours later when he finally turns the lights off. It’s not like the other night, that almost fear. The lip of a realization so vast. That sinkhole of truth, heavy with dread around the tender edges in his chest. It costs too much. No, this night is different.

He thinks of Jimmy – somewhere up in Heaven, probably. Jimmy wouldn’t have wanted this life for Claire. And Dean can’t put off the guilt for another day and go to sleep, because where he’s going Jimmy will not be waiting with retribution. This is the best he can do for Claire now. And there’s only so much he can do. He wishes, desperately, that they’d never touched her life. If he has to lose her like Charlie… knowing they dragged her into the life, no. Maybe she’ll go to those college classes now, follow Alex and move on. 

( _ Where are you, Cas? _ )

Dean forces himself to stop. He loses hope. He sees it happen as though watching his own life as an outsider. The night passes without sleep. 

And time just moves on. It’s morning. He’s cooking breakfast. Claire sits at a table in the library with Cas. They’re both pouring over a book together. He watches himself whistle an off-key tune as he flips a pancake, then tends to another sizzling pan. 

“How many are you gonna have, Claire?” he calls from the kitchen. His voice carries. 

Cas stops his slow, serious explanation of gravity or whatever science crap mid-sentence, and looks at Claire expectantly. 

She rolls her eyes, and yells back. “Two!”

“And three for Cas,” Dean hears himself murmur. “Three for me–okay, should be enough.” He carries the plates to the table, sets one down in front of Claire on top of her textbook, and the other in front of Cas. 

“Wait,” Claire protests, frazzled. 

“Enough. You’re fine. It’s just an exam, not a big deal. You’ve faced worse with less and come out on top. You’re gonna ace it.” Dean digs into his pancakes, chews thickly. He points to her plate and shoves the maple syrup closer. “Eat.” 

“What about lunch–?” Cas starts. 

“I already told you,” Claire interrupts, annoyed. 

Dean raises an eyebrow at her, and she rolls her eyes but her shoulders slump. There’s a murmured apology somewhere in there. She twirls a piece of pancake on her fork, hesitating. 

“Can you pick me up at noon? I should be done around then.”

“Of course,” Cas says. 

Claire sighs. “School sucks.” 

“Yeah, it’s school. And we’re proud of you.” Dean reaches across the table to slap Cas’ shoulder. “Right, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas says solemnly. He smiles at Claire. “Don’t be nervous.” 

Time blurs in an imperceptible, indecipherable shift– Dean is outside in a park. Claire’s hair gleams in the sun. She shines, smiling up at Cas. Who’s smiling down at her. They look over together, and Cas holds out a hand. And Dean– well, he takes it. Folds their hands together, takes joy in the warm clasp of their palms. He looks annoyed about something, but he falls in step beside Cas as they walk together. 

“... What do you mean you’re gonna put us in a retirement home?” Dean’s voice sounds incredulous to his own ears, a touch exaggerated. “You can’t get rid of us. You can’t make us do anything. Back me up, Cas.”

Claire squints against the sunlight, but the humor is evident in her expression, in her voice. “How else am I gonna keep an eye on you two?”

“Dean can be a handful,” Cas agrees sagely. 

“Hey!”

“It was your idea, though. Oak Park– I saw it in the stuff Sam was showing you the other day.” Claire shrugs. “I was kidding, but if you wanted to go, it’s not a bad idea. And if not, well, Jody and Donna live with Alex and her husband, and I know I'm not moving outta the bunker any time soon.” 

“So what about Emily, she wants to move into the bunker, raise your kids there?” Dean knows he sounds derisive, but the answer can’t be yes. And maybe he is a little defensive. A little heartsick at the thought of having to say goodbye. Claire is out– with some excursions back to her former life. It’s hardly the family business anymore. 

He feels Cas’ grip tighten around his hand fractionally, and Claire shrugs. 

“Dunno. One step at a time, you know? Not all of us wake up one morning and decide to stay together forever.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice. 

Cas laughs. He rests his cheek on Dean’s shoulder and laughs. 

“It was easy for me,” he says, and Dean’s heart leaps because this is– he wants to kiss Cas. “It was a long time coming for us.”

“Ugh.” Claire rolls her eyes. “No, I can’t watch this again. Like lovesick puppies, all the time. We’re talking about me and my grown up, boring…” 

Her voice fades out. All around them the light grows brighter, a yellow-white that consumes everything.

Dean wakes with a start. He’s actually disoriented for a few seconds before he realizes that he fell asleep with his bedside lamp on. His phone chimes and he makes a bleary grab for it. Disappointment drops like a rock in his stomach when he sees that it’s not Cas.

He looks at it again. It’s not Cas. 

But it is Claire. Dean smiles. 

_ btw caddyshack sux _


End file.
